Radiant
by I-am-the-survivor
Summary: Her smile is radiance. It bathes the darkest parts of him in light that hasn't been seen in years. Her laugh is sipping cider in the dead of winter. A warmth starting in his cheeks and spreading to the pit of his stomach, dulling the cold that had long settled there. A series of oneshots based around our Brownstone family post-adoption
1. If

_**If...**_

 _Hey yall. Getting some one shots out there just in time for the holiday season. Most of these have sat in my mental lock box of shit to do for a while but I've honestly had no idea where to put them. Hope you enjoy and feel free to drop a request in the box I've got plenty of creative energy all pent up and I need to write to let it all out._

 _Prompt: Watson gets hurt during a case and Sherlock becomes super overprotective._

It started during a stakeout, Marcus had set them up with an empty apartment across the street of one of the most notorious gangs in New York City. Apparently they were currently harboring Brooklyn's latest serial killer in their midst. What they were receiving in exchange, Sherlock wasn't entirely sure.

It's a fairly quiet evening, the only sound besides the streets below them was the sound of Watson's nails on her cell phone as she texted Mrs. Hudson for updates about Leo. The two year old was experiencing the seasonal cold and despite his insistence that he could handle this stakeout alone Watson seemed determined to come. Yet he could feel the worry radiating off of his partner even at their distance.

Her lips remain pursed and the bags settle under her eyes as she waits in silence, likely for news that her son finally succumbed to slumber. It seems the boy, in his sickness has developed the same aversion to sleep as himself. He's taken to waking Watson up lesser simply for worry of the exhaustion plaguing her at this time of the year.

Luckily the sickness isn't so severe to warrant a visit to the Emergency. It was little more than a light fever and a cough but Watson had kept him safe from illness thus far in her care. This was his first serious bout with being sick and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't worried about the boy too.

Rather than coming upon the rambunctious antics the exploratory boy is getting into, he finds the two of them curled up on the couch with her mother's miracle tea pushed to the center of the table.

But despite his arguments Watson still came to the stakeouts. Despite her checking her phone every five minutes for updates she stays.

Finally he hears her let out a sigh of relief, shortly followed by the soft tap of her phone being laid on the ground beside her. He tilts his head back to see her rubbing her eyes tiredly. Tension has seeped from her features, "He's asleep." She announces after a few precious moments of relaxation. He takes in her small smile at his knowing look. "Oh be quiet."

"I didn't know you were venturing into mind reading Watson." He teases lightly. A chuckle escapes her lips as she pushes herself to stand. The quiet moment erupts into chaos with the shatter of the window. A cry leaves his partner's lips as they both hit the ground. She's too far away. He can't help her.

He can hear the shouts of the officers guarding their door, voices demanding to know their status. He looks around the room partially stunned, besides some scratches from broken glass he's uninjured. Watson is frighteningly still. His heart pounds against the back of his throat and in those brief moments of uncertainty all he can think of is the sick little boy back home. Sleeping peacefully in his bedroom after crying for his mother for hours. How could he be so careless to leave him with no mother again. His first given him up, his second shot up in a shoddy apartment so close from home. Peacefully oblivious to his entire world shattering.

Sherlock doesn't breathe until he sees her legs draw up to her chest. Every self instinct leaves him in that moment as he crawls over to her. He spies the crimson leaking into the carpet and his stomach drops to his feet. Bile builds in the back of his throat and the only thing going through his head is she's hurt, she got hit.

"Sherlock look at me!" It's Watson gripping his tie that pulls him back from his deep panic. She's conscious and coherent, more than he can say for himself. All he can see is her blood staining the grey carpet. Her eyes are trained on him concern mixed with the adrenaline. "I'm okay. We're okay!" She yells, assumingly to the officers on the other side of the door waiting for the all clear. "Look at me." He obeys this time meeting those eyes. "Just a scrape. I'm okay."

She takes his hand now pressing it against her chest. Even through the layers of her suit he can feel her heart pounding against his fingers. It's strong if a little quick, he imagines his would be the same. "I'm okay." He whispers in response. He could see her eyes scanning his face, the quickening of her heart signaling he's bleeding as well. "Just glass. We can clean it when we get back hm?" Her head jerks in small semblance of a nod.

The moment is broken when the door bursts open. He pulls his hand back quickly to maintain the privacy of the moment. It was only meant to be between the two of them. He can hear Marcus explaining what had happened but all he can think is how he wished to feel the steady pounding beneath his fingers still, grounding him to reality.

From that moment he makes a silent vow to protect her no matter the cost.

In reflection, he believes he may have went a bit too far.

It'd been going on for a month before Watson picks up on his behavior. In the meantime he's talked her out of going in for negotiations, pushed her away from particularly violent or personal cases, and even kept certain investigations from her notice especially ones needing stakeouts.

Yet it's when they're just strolling on the street on their way to a suspect's home when she finally realizes. She's just about to step to cross the street when he notices a taxi cab speeding down the street. Logically, he knows the cabby would see her in time. Logically, he know she would see the cab in the same time as he. Logically, he knows they wouldn't hit her.

It doesn't stop the nightmarish scenarios that have plagued his mind since that dreaded case. Her heel could break resulting in a tumble, a reflection could blind the cabby, he could simply not stop at all.

He grips her arm pulling her back to the sidewalk as the cab rushes past them seconds after he pulled her. His eyes roam over her checking for any sort of injury.

"What the hell Sherlock!" She barks as she teeters off balance. "You could have made me twist an ankle. At least give me a warning next time." She tries to pull away but his assessment isn't done he has to make sure she's okay. "What is going on with you? You've been acting strange for weeks." It's more of a demand than a question. One he can't seem to conjure the words to answer.

"I-" He blinks away the images of her blood on the carpet once more. "I'm sorry Watson. It won't happen again."

Her eyes narrow at his submission. Normally their arguments could go on for hours. He can read it in her eyes that it's nothing like him. Frustration melts away to concern once again and despite his urges to get them back to the case at hand she remains stubbornly planted into the sidewalk. "What's going on?" It's softer this time, only meant to be heard by him.

"Watson."

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong." Her eyebrows shoot up in the challenging manner that seems to possess her very being. He shifts from one leg to another looking for any reason not to explain.

"It's cold." He frowns, nothing. "Bell is waiting for us." Nothing. "Watson."

"Sherlock." She mocks his whine right back to him and he knows he's not winning this battle.

"You have a son back home." He looks past her now a deep sigh leaving his chest. "If he were to lose you-"

Her face twists in confusion. "You skipped a couple of logic steps there."

"The stakeout where you were shot"

"I was grazed."

"The bullet hit you did it not?" Her jaw snaps shut knowing better than to argue this. It would lead them nowhere. "It happened as soon as you stood. If I'd have been paying attention I could have warned you. If you'd have gotten up just slightly to the left it wouldn't have been a scrape. If we'd have lost you."

"Hey." She calls to him. "Listen to yourself. If, if, if. It didn't happen. You didn't see it, it was just a scrape, and neither of you are losing me any time soon if I have any say in it."

"But-"

"But nothing. I could easily turn this on you. Like it or not you're an important part of his life. The work we do is dangerous. I knew that eight years ago when I signed up for this. I still know that to this day." She takes his hand just like she had done that night, this time placing it against her throat. She lays his fingers so they rest perfectly against her pulse. It beats against his fingertips, strong and smooth. He feels his anxiety being slowly pulled away with each thrum. "We're in this together." Her cool fingers brush his own pulse. Part of him wonders how she'd felt that night, waiting for him to call out to her.

"Together." He whispers with a subdued nod. Hesitantly he breaks the peaceful moment. With a stroke of his thumb against the smooth column of her throat he smiles. "Let's get back to work shall we?" She answers his smile with one of her own.

"Lead the way."


	2. A Winter Wonderland

**This is the last of my pre-written material before I drop off the face of the earth again. I was working pretty well paced on a lengthy fic (which I'm hoping to get up before February at least,, oof) but I got hit with what I can only describe as a health crisis cause neither me nor the doctors know what the fuck is wrong with me. I've been dizzy and generally disoriented for a couple of days so it's made concentrating on fic writing difficult to say the least.**

 **As a whole I was not too happy with this when I wrote it hence why I put off posting it for so long but when doesn't this fandom need cute domestic joanlock fluff? So here it is anyways hope you enjoy while I WebMD my symptoms**

Sherlock watches with an amused smile on his face as Leo escapes his mother's grasp dropping unceremoniously to the ground. Excitement sparkles in the young boy's eyes as he spies the snowflakes raining down from the sky. However, before he can make his grand escape outside the restaurant his mother catches him by the back of his collar.

"Coat." Joan had perfected her authoritative voice after living with him for so many years. Even with his exuberance the boy doesn't dare question his mother's commands sticking up his little arms so that she can help it on him. She kneels down to his height helping him with the zip before placing a kiss on his cheek despite loud squealing protests. He can't help the grin that fights to spread across his lips. Rather he tucks it a way with a clearing of his throat.

He holds Watson's coat out for her helping her shrug it on as she did for her son. She reaches out and takes the three year old's hand as they step out into the cold night.

The rush of bitter wind makes him wince and he almost misses the immediate look of wonder that spreads across Leo's face. The two detectives follow the gaze and spot the cause of wonder at the same time.

Across the street is a large carriage decorated with garland and garish red ribbons with excessive golden sparkles. A man sits in the steering position in a large black coat and a top hat, holding the reins to a dark brown horse shaking its mane. The man seems to spot Leo as they step out as he tips the brim of his hat towards him. Uncharacteristically shy, he feels tiny hands grip the back of his pants as he hides behind his leg.

In a bold move he sweeps up the boy and strides towards the carriage. He can hear Watson's gasp and protests but he decides to ignore him. "May we pet your horse Mr?"

"Blakley," The man introduces himself with a wide-toothed grin. His eyes wrinkle at the corners and he feels Leo tuck his mop of curls into his shoulder. "Her name is Maybelle."

He mouths a thank you to the man before stepping to the horse. He's careful to avoid the patches of ice shining in the light of the street lamps. He feels the iron tight grip loosen on his collar a bit. A quick peek tells him that Leo's shyness is shrinking away. The wonder has returned full force as dark eyes meet chestnut ones.

Sherlock sticks his hand out first, petting the neck of the beast. "Hello Maybelle." He says softly. He shifts the boy urging him to stick out his own hand. Tiny fingers brush the fur against his own.

"Hi Belle." It's a whisper only Sherlock can hear but he feels the warmth spread through him instantly. He hears the snap of the camera behind him and spies Watson's smile next. So rarely did he see such a genuine smile cross her lips. He swears he even sees tears sparkling in her eyes.

"Shall we take a ride?" His statement startles mother and child both.

"Can we?" The boy gasps.

"We have work." Although Sherlock can hear the wistfulness in her voice. They've been busy on a particularly rough case all week and Leo is getting much too old to see the violent images posted up on the walls. Often it's handled with Joan's multitasking or playdates with Kitty and Archie but this case commands her attention. It was the first time they were able to eat together as a family all week.

The night had been filled with excited broken chatter recounting the last playdate where Archie introduced Leo to the world of Star Wars and the floor is lava. Watson had nearly spit out her tea when he'd mentioned that Kitty played with them. He can hardly imagine someone as brooding as Kitty bouncing on cushions proclaiming imaginary danger. As it got later he could feel the dread looming over them. Eventually they would have to drop Leo off at Mrs. Hudson's and Watson and him were to whisk off to analyze the crime scene once again.

"And I'm sure if you sent Marcus that picture of his favorite godson he'll be more than understanding if we're a bit tardy." She purses her lips at his statement. Her face reads it all, she knows he's right and she is hardly more impervious to the big puppy eyes of the toddler in his arms than he is.

"Fine." She sighs reluctantly but a wide smile tugs at her lips. He grins offering her a hand as she climbs up the stairs in her heeled boots. Gingerly, he passes Leo up to her where she settled them both onto the cushioned seat. He climbs up next taking his seat so that the little boy is nestled between them.

The soft sounds of hooves clopping on the streets fill the night air as the three of them relax. It is barely twenty minutes into the ride before he feels the weight Leo shift. He climbs into his mother's lap burrowing his nose into her neck. Wordlessly, Sherlock reaches behind them pulling out two blankets. Watson mouths a thank you wrapping the first blanket around her son, the other she uses one hand to hook it over her shoulders before holding out the other half for him.

"No I'm fine."

"Yeah and the last thing I need is Bell getting on me for letting you catch a cold out here because you refuse to share a blanket."

"Actually you can't-"

"Just get over here." The 'mom voice' comes back and he has no choice but to scoot over so his side is pressing against hers. In the strangest way the closeness does not feel awkward nor forced. He feels the warmth radiating off of her layered body and is sure she feels the same.

He watches her in moments where she's not paying attention. Her eyes trace over New York as if seeing it for the first time. It's stunning that despite knowing Leo's adopted and having been through the procedures alongside her, he can still see resemblances between mother and child. Particularly their dark captivating eyes that demand attention. His breath catches when those eyes suddenly meet his catching him staring.

"Did you know that carriage operators aren't supposed to ride in temperatures below 19 degrees?" He can hear it in her tone of voice, she already knows the answer to her question. He partially wonders how long it took her to deduce that Mr. Blakely is, in fact, one of his irregulars hired for the purpose of this carriage ride.

Part of him wonders if he should keep up the facade or give in. "Leo likes horses," He finally relents under her scrutinous gaze.

"Well I think it's sweet. Thank you." Warmth spreads through his chest at her approval.

They reach the Brownstone far too soon for his liking but he knows the night had to end eventually. Watson carefully passes a sleeping Leo on to Mrs. Hudson while he tips the driver and thanks him.

As they make their way to the police station he feels Watson's hand brush up against his. He tries to catch her gaze but she stares forwards as if she didn't notice the contact at all. He partially believes he imagined it until it happens again. The soft touches continue all the way there.

And he was right, Bell didn't complain.


End file.
